


The Color of Beginnings

by cas_loves_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dean is in denial, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, dean and cas are soulmates, fluffy soulmate fanfic, kind of cliche I know but stick with me here, minimal angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-08-12
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cas_loves_dean/pseuds/cas_loves_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone enters the world printed with the first and last name of their soulmate on their wrist --the person that has been crafted just for them, their perfect match. Sometimes, soulmates decide to become best friends—others decide to become lovers. Others die before they meet their mate--a tragedy that impacts the living mate for the rest of their life. Those that don’t have a printed match—the few lost souls who wander the Earth without purpose—are known as the Unmatched. Science cannot explain this phenomenon, for it is something purely divine. We have yet to discover the purpose of the Unmatched, and we may never know. </p><p>Castiel Novak was an example of one of nature's most perplexing anomalies. He was a master at fighting off loneliness, and he had continued to do so--until one faithful day, when he met an insistent firefighter with earth-shattering news and a beautiful smile. And thus marked the start of a new life for Castiel--a tumultuous, imperfect, beautiful spiral into chaos, dyed the color of beginnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Color of Beginnings

            Everyone enters the world printed with the first and last name of their soulmate on their wrist --the person that has been crafted just for them, their perfect match. Sometimes, soulmates decide to become best friends—others decide to become lovers. Others die before they meet their mate--a tragedy that impacts the living mate for the rest of their life. There is something undeniably strong about the bond between two souls, and it can only ever be broken by death itself. There is a biological drive inside humans that naturally leads them to their mates. Those that don’t have a printed match—the few lost souls who wander the Earth without purpose—are known as the _Unmatched._ Science cannot explain this phenomenon, for it is something purely divine. We have yet to discover the purpose of the _Unmatched,_ and we may never know.

            Government officials around the world do not trust the unknown, the unpredictable, the anomalies. And when a young unmatched woman named Anna Milton came looking for answers they didn’t have, she was terminated. As a result, the Kindred Act was created; an initiative to slowly rid the world of the _Unmatched_ in order for the Government to feel like they were in control.

            They soon learned that you cannot control the divine.

* * *

 

 

-1-

            Loneliness is a funny thing.

            It’s a peculiar experience in the sense that it slowly creeps up on you. It builds up in the back of your throat like an itch you just can’t scratch. You don’t really notice it until it’s finally in control of you.  It starts with getting the strange desire to stop walking in a throng of people and look up at the sky, silently pleading for someone, _anyone_ , to notice you. One day, you start to count your friends and find you have a surprisingly short list. And then, one night, you’re lying in bed and trying to convince your eyelids to shut, and you find yourself wondering why no one cares. It must be your dull eyes, or your slightly crooked nose. Or maybe it’s just your repulsive personality, who knows? There’s no one left to tell you.

            Castiel Novak knew loneliness very well. In fact, he considered him and loneliness to be the best of friends, considering there was no competition. From a young age, he watched as everyone around him was conditioned to believe that somewhere, out there in the world, there was someone that was made just for them. Their coordinating puzzle piece—the antidote to the loneliness that Castiel was so familiar with. Unfortunately it seemed that Castiel’s was missing. When God was assigning his soulmate, there was an administrative error—a mistake that left him with a gaping hole inside of him, with no one to fill it.

            Whereas everyone else had the name of their soulmate tattooed on their arm before birth, Castiel’s arm was empty. There were few documented cases of this in history, making Castiel an anomaly. No one could explain it. Of course, this news did not aid in the treatment of Castiel’s ever-present case of loneliness. Knowing that there was no one out there for him made life incredibly dreary. Yet, there was always a shred of hope, buried down in the tiniest cranny of his soul—the hope that there was someone else with a bare arm out there that was meant just for him. This part of him had been locked away in a vault for many years—hope was pointless. If he hadn’t found his soulmate by now, he never would.

            This was the mindset of Castiel on the sunny, ordinary day of June 16th, when he sat down in his cubicle and hung up his jacket on the coat hanger like he did on every other. He waved hello to Charlie, his bubbly co-worker, and took a sip of his ultra-bland black coffee. Then, he logged into his computer to start another monotonous day at work. If you ever caught Castiel outside of work, he might have admitted to hating his job. Although, it was stable, safe, and above all: dependable. It was the one thing in his life that he could constantly depend on to be consistent—although that was the only good quality about it (besides Charlie).

            “Lots of account reviews today. We’re almost done with the quarter though—I can see the light! How was your weekend, Castiel?” Charlie questioned once he was all settled.

            “It was alright. I read a book, took a walk, did the laundry. It was efficient. How was yours?” He replied back with a wearisome tone. Charlie looked at him like people did when they discovered the blank flesh of his wrist. The “ _Oh_ , you’re one of the _Unmatched_ ,” look that he despised.

            “Well, I went on a date with Dorothy,” her cheeks flushed as she mentioned her soulmate, “and watched Game of Thrones. It was nice to relax during the calm before the storm.” She directed her gaze at her computer with a look of terror. The end of the quarter was always difficult.

            “Speaking of which, I better start working. Good luck with your reports.” Castiel said inanimately, knowing full well that he was being robotic. He was not in the mood to socialize during such a stressful day. He had to get to work.

            Hours passed as Castiel entered data into spreadsheet after spreadsheet, sent emails and called clients from all over the world. His eyes were tired of looking at his computer screen, and his mind was tired of numbers. He needed a break, but he didn’t intend on taking one—voluntarily at least.

            “Attention please! This is not a drill! Please proceed in an orderly fashion to your section’s assigned exit! Do not use the elevators!” A voice crackled over the intercom. Castiel’s brow furrowed, and he looked over at Charlie, only to see the same confused expression on her face. Slowly, as if in a stupor, Castiel’s co-workers started standing up and walking to the exits. It took a minute, but eventually Castiel followed suit, walking beside Charlie to the staircase.

            “Probably some idiot lit his Hot Pocket on fire in the microwave,” some curmudgeon grumbled from behind him.

            “Probably from HR.” Another irritated voice added. Castiel was tempted to roll his eyes.

            Unfortunately, Castiel worked on the 15th floor, so the trek down the stairs was quite the haul--especially for the accountants whose only exercise was typing in numbers on the keyboard all day. When they reached the 10th floor, the stairwell started filling up with black smoke. Coughs echoed through the throng of people, and Castiel began to feel a bit claustrophobic. They had reached the origin of the fire.

            Far off in the distance, Castiel could barely hear the sirens of fire engines, and then he saw the firefighters come marching against the flow of traffic.

            And then, it happened.

            A firefighter, about his height, male, with a kind face and soft eyes, went to pass him on the staircase. His face was dirty, sweaty, and tan, yet it was the most beautiful face Castiel had ever seen. He was yanking on his protective jacket as he went up the stairs. And as he went to put his hands through the sleeves, Castiel saw it—or, well, the absence of it. The man had no mark. His wrist was bare.

 

 

            When Castiel and Charlie finally made it out of the smoke-ridden, concrete trap of the stairwell, they sat down on the curb and waited for further direction. Charlie was excitedly chatting away about the possibility of getting an extension on her reports and the chance that they could go home early. Castiel didn’t listen. If a freight train went through the bottom floor of the building at that moment, he wouldn’t even bat an eye.

            Instead, he was entirely fixated upon the blank left wrist of a certain unnamed firefighter.

            Castiel had never met another one of the _Unmatched_ before. There was said to be only about 100 in the entire world. The odds of him meeting someone like him had been so miniscule that he had never even bothered to consider the possibility--and yet, here he was, sitting on his ass like a stunned toddler in awe of this discovery. 

            He had to remind himself to add an “Mmhm,” in between Charlie’s longwinded ramblings in order to dissuade any suspicion. He tapped his foot against the hot pavement and looked up at the sky. It was rather cloudy for a day in June, especially for San Francisco, and there was a weak breeze accompanied with a slight chill. Castiel liked this kind of weather. It was not too hot but not too cold, plain and not very exciting. Simple, and mild, just like him.

            A commotion arose near the mouth of the building, and Castiel stood up and tried to get a better vantage point. A man was being carried out on a stretcher, his face badly burned and pain glinting in his eyes. The paramedics yelled for the crowd to make room for the gurney, and Castiel backed up without tearing his eyes away from the victim. His reddened eyes seemed to be seeking out someone in the crowd, and when his eyes locked on Castiel, he froze.

            “You did this!” He gnashed at Castiel like a rabid dog, spittle flying from his burnt mouth. “This is your fault! They wanted you!”

Castiel stood frozen as the man went by, struggling futilely to comprehend what the man had said. At the same time, the unmatched firefighter pinned Castiel with a curious gaze. He was standing opposite Castiel, his almost delicate features dusted with ash and drenched in sweat. It was then that Castiel really began to appreciate how attractive this man was. He shook his head—there were more pressing issues at hand, such as the stern looking police officers heading towards him at an impressive rate.

“Mr. Novak, may we speak with you?”

 

            After a repetitive interview with the police that mainly consisted of “I don’t knows,” Castiel was finally able to escape. Charlie was anxiously waiting on the curb for him, and as soon as she saw him she was attacking him with questions. He shook most of them off with half-assed answers, and had to say goodbye when he saw a swarm of reporters coming his way. He ducked into the parking garage with a promise to call Charlie later that night.

            As he walked speedily towards his car, he began to feel a foreboding sense of paranoia. He kept hurriedly looking behind him while steadily picking up the pace. If an onlooker were to see him, they would believe without a doubt he was somehow responsible for the fire. His actions seeped guilt, yet he couldn’t find it in himself to care. If those damn reporters were following him again, he would not be able to handle their questions in a calm manner.

            His mind was roving over what the burnt man had said to him with encroaching fear. What if he really had caused that fire? But, how? He didn’t remember doing anything that could be considered a fire hazard…and the fire had started five floors below him! How was that possible? Unless…

            No. It couldn’t be possible. He hurriedly shook the thought out of his head. There was no evidence….and yet Castiel found himself rubbing his wrist worriedly as he walked along. They didn’t hunt the Unmatched anymore…right? The thought was so outrageous Castiel almost laughed. Obviously, the man was just confusing him with someone else. The man didn’t even know what he was rambling about—that was it, of course. Even though the logical part of his mind assured him otherwise, he still had an itching sense that the burnt man was right.

            He fished his keys out of his pocket, and was just about to unlock his car when he saw him. The Unmatched Firefighter with those soulful, gentle eyes—but they weren’t gentle at that moment. His eyes were like slate, cold and down to business, and that sent a jagged bolt of fear through Castiel. His heart leaped into his throat, and his knees locked in place. His brain struggled to comprehend what this stranger was doing in front of his car, but he came up with nothing.

            “Get in.” He ordered, his voice gravelly and rough. Castiel’s eyes dilated with shock. This man’s voice demanded attention. He found himself obeying him with jerky movements, unlocking the car and sliding into the front seat. He half expected the man to pull out a gun and demand that he drive, like some scene out of a bad horror movie. Yet, at the same time, he knew this wasn’t about petty theft. As he shakily put the key in the ignition, keeping a watchful eye on his new guest, the man’s hand bolted out and grasped his wrist. The speed and unexpectedness of this motion caught Castiel off guard, and his breath got stuck in his throat as he watched the man yank up his sleeve.

            He heard a faint gasp from the man, and then, “I knew it.”

            After a short pause, the stranger added in a less frightening tone, “Hi, I’m Dean. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His hand grasped Castiel’s and shook it vigorously.

            “Castiel.” He found himself replying, shocked at his unexpected compliance. He couldn’t explain it, but there was an undeniable feeling of comfort he got when he was around Dean. He trusted him.

            “Well, Cas, I’m going to need you to take a left out of this garage, alright? We’re gonna talk some more at my place. Sound good?” Dean instructed as he struggled out of his fireman apparel. Castiel had to remind himself to keep his eyes on the road, although his mind was elsewhere. Cas? No one had ever given him a nickname before. Castiel decided he liked it.

            Dean had stripped down into a sweat soaked t-shirt and jeans, and suddenly it became _extremely_ difficult to concentrate on driving…he ordered himself to change the subject.

            “How did you know?”

            “Because of the fear in your eyes when ol’ Jimmy back there was screaming at you. Only the Unmatched have that look. I just…I knew it in my gut. I’m glad I was right.” He had a slight smile on his face as he said the last part, and it made Castiel turn a little harsher than he normally would have. This was too much for him to handle.

            “Woah there—I guess I shouldn’t have let you drive, huh? We need to be alive in order to talk, right?” Dean was clutching onto the door handle tightly.

            Castiel slowed down and readjusted his hands on the wheel before replying, “My apologies. It’s been an…unusual day.”

            Dean laughed, a golden sound, smooth like honey. “That’s an understatement.” He stated with a grin.

            “You’re Unmatched, too.” Castiel blurted, although he meant to phrase it as a question, it came out with a ringing finality. 

            Dean laughed again, slightly bitter. “Yup, unmatched, unloved, uninterested. I’ve got Sammy, and that’s all I really need.”

            “Sammy? Who’s that?” For some reason, disappointment curled in the bottom of his stomach like a bad meal. He saw Dean raising his eyebrow in his peripheral vision.

            “My brother. He’s 21. I’m 4 years older, so I’ve had to take care of his sorry ass for most of my life.” Dean said this with a loving tone, and Castiel was entranced by it. He never talked about his brothers that way. Dean went on, “My mother died when Sammy was just a baby, and Dad was….absent. Sammy and I, we’re all each other’s got.”

            “I’m sorry, Dean. It was good of you to protect your brother.” Dean nodded in thanks, and Castiel examined the lineaments of his face as he gazed out the sunlit window. Dean looked tired. His face was exhausted, even in his youth. This man was strong. He’d had a tough life. Compared to the obviously sheltered aura that Castiel knew he put off, Dean seemed older, even though in reality Castiel was a year older than him.

            “Take a right here, and then a left at that stoplight up there.” Dean said monotonously, pointing out the windshield at the hilly San Francisco streets. They were leaving the business district and going into the residential area. Castiel lived in an upscale apartment that his father paid for. Did he mention he was sheltered? This part of town was unfamiliar to him. The colorful rowhouses passed by as Dean gave him more instructions. They finally arrived at a sage colored, simple rowhouse on the corner of the street.

            Castiel opened his door and followed Dean up the front steps. The house had some Victorian touches that he admired, but it was simple, nicely taken care of, and it fit Dean’s personality. Dean opened the front door and ushered Castiel inside.

            “MTV, welcome to my crib.” Dean announced as he went to open his car door. Castiel tilted his head in confusion, not understanding Dean’s foreign welcome. Dean just laughed. The interior was modern, but not by any means fancy. It was functional. Castiel would use the word, “cozy,” to describe it, a word that didn’t often find its way into his vocabulary.

            “Alright, Cas. Let’s sit down and have a nice chat, alright? Want a beer?” Castiel almost never drank. He despised not feeling in control of himself, yet today was a stressful day. He didn’t want to be in control anymore.

            “Sure,” he responded, surprised with himself. Dean also looked shocked for a second, but pulled a beer out of the fridge regardless. Castiel shrugged off his trench coat and slung it over the back of a bar stool. He couldn’t help but notice that Dean watched him do this with a certain look in his eye that Castiel couldn’t name. Dean tossed a bottle to Castiel before sitting down on his couch and popping off the cap on his bottle.

            “Well, we have a lot to talk about, don’t we?” Dean propped his legs up on the coffee table before taking a swig of his beer. Castiel twisted the top off of his, trying to remember the last time he’d had one. It’d been a while, he knew that for certain. As a held the cold glass bottle up to his lips and took a sip, he wrinkled his nose. He never really liked liquor. Images of the burnt man, “Jimmy,” flashed in front of him. He took a big gulp.

            “Certainly. I’ve never met another Unmatched before.” Castiel said, staring into Dean’s eyes with a cold intensity. He was all business now. He needed to know what was going on.

            “Me neither. And from what I’ve gathered, that’s not a good thing.” Dean furrowed his brow and took another swig.

            “Why?”

            “They’re hunting us, Cas. Every damn one of us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovelies!  
> I hope you enjoyed this first snippet of my new story! I had planned to enter this into the Dean/Cas Big Bang, but I felt as if the idea deserved more than a week of marathon writing just to meet a deadline. If you'd like me to post more, please leave kudos and comments below. Thank you! xx  
> Thanks to my darling friend, @deartabbie, for beta-ing this story for me! You're the best, Tabbie! :)  
> -Sav  
> Check out my tumblr and shoot me a message if you enjoyed. http://adorecastiel.tumblr.com/


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